


so let's start carving our own path

by canonlytrans



Series: so let's start carving our own path [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Co-Written, Davesprite and Dave Strider are Siblings, Dirk Strider and Dave's Bro Aren't the Same Person, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Human Davesprite (Homestuck), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Minor Damara Megido/Horuss Zahhak, Minor Davesprite/John Egbert, Minor Gamzee Makara/Tavros Nitram, Minor Rose Lalonde/Kanaya Maryam, Minor Rufioh Nitram/Horuss Zahhak, Minor Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining, Platonic Soulmates, Rose Lalonde and Dave Strider are Siblings, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, off-screen sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:45:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonlytrans/pseuds/canonlytrans
Summary: Tavros Nitram's life is NOT a movie.After all, he moved across the country to get away from his soulmate. Now it's just him, his brother, and his best friend, Terezi. He works at a tea shop, he writes on commission... and his life just really isn't anything special at all. Not with the medical bills, his brother's second job, the loss of half of his platonic soulmate bond, and the permanent reminder that his soulmate is out there, waiting for him to come back.So, not a movie. It's completely and utterly boring... that is, until he meets Dirk Strider, who doesn't like his brother, has his own soulmate, and is the exact opposite of boring. He's got a family, he has a cool job, he's got his own friends, and he's a lot cooler than Tavros - and yet, happy to consider Tavros a friend... or maybe even more.





	1. Tea's Brewing

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is a preeetty long story.
> 
> First of all this fic started as a joke of sorts (my friend and co-author for this fic, Mix, read all the Dirk/Tav fics and was like "there's only 12" and I was like WELL I GOTTA POST ONE SO IT'S 13) but ended up evolving into something that actually happened, y'know? And I'm proud of how it turned out. The idea of two people whose soulmates are other people was mine and I planned to use it for a very different fic but it happened how it did and I'm glad that's how it happened.
> 
> SOOOO I wrote it, Mix added the details + edited it - and you get what you see below. Sadly formatting got fucked up due to what I used to format it so I didn't have to, HOWEVER, I'm very proud of what we got here.
> 
> One last thing: Mix is not on ao3.
> 
> The fic title comes from the song Love Is Beginning by Imaginary Future, which partially inspired parts of this fic!

If it’s possible for mint to taste like cardboard, then you now have a good idea of what this tea tastes like. More sugar, more cream. You’ve said it before, but… Perhaps not loud enough? Mint was such a bitter taste, and cardboard? Just as unforgiving. Do you say anything this time though, as Ms. Leijon walks away after giving it to you with a smile? Oh HELL no. She was so sure she got it right, how could you break her heart like that? You can’t, that’s how. So, instead, you sit here, drinking your tea of regret and sadness, with the sweet aftertaste of disappointment tinged with attempted love, while watching the people around you. Really, you feel a little out of place here, which causes your rapidly growing anxiety about the day to fly even further. Perhaps another reason you didn’t try to correct the aging woman. Difference? How you have it, but boy howdy do you not want it. So, people watching it is. 

Nepeta Leijon, a friend who found you shortly after you moved to this new big city; really she was the only reason you have this job you think. She spoke about you to her mom, a sweet lady with a heart of gold, and “hinted” at how you needed a job. How you had no income as of right then, and with a bleeding heart… here you are.

Now? She busies herself behind the counter with the towers of plastic cups and lord knows how she can balance them so well, her older sister Meulin is restocking the shelves with speed of a jaguar, and that’s just a regular day at Leijon Tea & Co. It’s a quiet sort of place, with the sweetest sort of music playing! The kind that you normally don’t listen to, because it’s not your taste in music (you’ve never really liked Coldplay or dodie, but you make an exception while here.) You’re technically on break, though with your wheelchair and how little stuff there is you can do around here... you’re basically _always_ on break.

11:30 in the morning and you’re drinking your cardboard sadness mint tea when the door chimes, signalling a new customer.

If your life were a movie, this is the moment that everything would change.

Except it’s not a movie. It’s just some guy, coming up to the counter to buy a cup of tea, like he always does.

Iced tea? In this weather? Whatever, it’s not your place to judge as you glance briefly in his direction as he throws some change onto the counter for Meulin. Bless her soul to be able to handle how bitter his attitude seems to be with her. 

Curt. To the point, and no time for her fun little conversations.

He’s just like the other students you see filing in. 

As he always does, he comes and goes without so much as a word. There is nothing special about this day, or this action, or this customer.

There’s no bells, no growing, no pause in time as your eyes meet and you fall in love. What are you? Some kid that believes in fairies? Maybe not as strongly, but there’s no magic here. The door chimes as it closes behind him, and that’s as close as you’ll ever get to magic.

Your name is Tavros Nitram, and your life is most definitely not a film of any sort.

* * *

Like clockwork, Rufioh forgot his lunch once again. It’s always the same day, the same time, the same food. It’s almost like he tries to, or plans to. Maybe it’s a reason to get you out of the house more? Maybe to help you make friends? You nearly burst out laughing at the mere thought of it. You have awkward pauses in your speech (and occasionally your stutter), you’re awkward and shy and self-esteem? Who’s she? You don’t know her!

So the option of gaining friends seems like almost as big a dream as maybe one day being able to walk for more than five minutes without it feeling as if you’re being torn through hell and back. Nevertheless, you find yourself working your way out of the car Rufioh managed to finagle for you. Turns out if you know the right people, even the most oddest of things can be found… Like someone in wheelchair driving. 

That’s besides the point!

Looking up, you find the college looming before you. Somerset Community College. The SCC, and the fact that it’s named for something that probably doesn’t exist anymore. A person? The old name of this city? Maybe the neighborhood before they realized how stupid ‘Somerset’ sounds, like something from a Victorian novel? Sadly, you are left to ponder that as you wheel your way through the familiar growing rooms of the school, the walls brick and unpainted plaster, the windows looking out over the city sprawling out before you. Some of the teachers have started recognizing you from how often your weeaboo of a brother forgets to grab his food - but you don’t see them today.

It’s Thursdays.

Only ever _Thursdays_.

Two in the afternoon, and here you are looking for room B21.

You keep having to ask for directions and put up with people trying to help you. The kindness, while thoughtful, does nothing to help the toiling pit inside you. The words whispered by someone you’d rather soon forget, someone who keeps telling you that no matter what you do, no matter how hard your exhausted mind and body work, you will never be enough. It’ll never be enough… The thoughts are luckily chased away by the reminder that getting home after this means that you get to rewatch more of your mind numbing shows you’ve rewatched enough to know by heart. To soothe the nerves that plague your anxiety driven form.

As the door looms in view, you let your mind wander to the commissions you have to finish tonight. It might not be too much, but it’s enough for some comfortable clothes. A little smut there, a little fairytale there… It’s not the worst pass time, not nearly the best, but far from the worst. Mind slipping to the feeling of popcorn while you and Rufioh slick back and enjoy some anime together… Yeah… Sounds nice. Anime and internet, truly blessed things. 

Instead of, oh you don’t know, being at home and writing your personal stuff, or something other then smut; who could get tired of writing a thousand plus words of how Darth Vader boned Chewbacca. The sarcasm is almost tangible enough to cut with your old LARP lance. How, honestly, degrading! But money is money, and words are words. The only thing with your sanity is the brother that is slowly coming into view, and original fanfictions that seem to keep some people off your back timewise.

It seems, as you fully roll into the relatively large classroom, that perhaps these guys got the short end of the large room stick. It was a looming, expanding classroom. Desks were pushed to the walls to make longer ones, some robotic parts laid scattered around the room with wires and… is that some blueprints casually placed to make it look nice? 

Your thoughts are cut short when your eyes tilt up to see what had your brother’s so enamored with something you knew he didn’t care for. And you, honestly, felt what could only be described as a pang through your heart. For both him, and the one who was too oblivious to notice. 

How had YOU not noticed? The robotic parts… you see EXACTLY how it is.

There was your brother, as he always is. Hair in his usual lazy red-tinged mohawk and well fitted clothes. He looks almost dazed, as the Zahhak he’s pined after for nearly a decade stands beside him. His arms tossed up while he explains something. If you didn’t know it would end in heartbreak for you dear bro, you’d find the scene cute. Perhaps even adorable. But it’s… Sad. Eight years of crushing, loving, listening, learning. With only two of those actually in person to see how Horuss’ eyes light up? You knew it wasn’t good for Rufioh, to pin like he does. Though… Who are you to say no? To stop him? He tries and sacrifices everything for you so… You can turn another blind eye to the blatant love written over his face. 

A heavy sigh slips through your chapped lips as your gaze shifts to… Oh no. Oh dear gods no. The shudder that slips down you barely functioning spine is one of fear and discomfort. Equius Zahhak. He’s around your age (eighteen, give or take), but with his gifts and strength, and probably money from his father, he was able to skip a few grades to end up in university like his brother. He… He seemed nice enough, and once offered to make you some prosthetics! You wanted, oh so badly, to accept the gifts. Unfortunately, according to Rufioh, you didn’t have the money to accept such a gift, because it would be rude to take someone’s hard work and not pay them for it. Especially when it’s something as big as new, working, cool robot legs. Okay, well, not full on “robot” but close enough! Sure he was a bit creepy, and stalked your old friend online but… It didn’t seem… The worst?

Surely one way to look at it.

The memory of what might have been still stings… Except you’ve gotten good at hiding what you really feel behind a smile and a soft voice. Even to your own brother, for his sake. 

You try your hardest to keep your wheelchair out of the way of all the mechanical parts that lay scattered about the once pristine college room. How could all of these kids here not know how to tidy a fucking room? Was it so fucking hard? You have a struggle cleaning and your room is STILL in better condition than this! Pigs… Eventually, you get a little closer, to where Equius’ made eye contact. It was a little awkward, and you gave a little wave. You spent a lot of time with him, and you knew he wasn’t as bad as he seemed but you just can’t get over some of the things he did in the past… Though you’re trying for Nepeta’s sake. The two? Are always together!

You’d recently found out they were _platonic_ soulmates - something you yourself knew quite well. You love seeing how happy they make each other, even as they bicker and argue and sneer, they love each other. And you don’t think either could work without the other. It was almost like what you have with Terezi, though, you and she have _never_ had the same soulmark reaction like those two did…

Must be nice to be healthy…

Blinking as you finally come back to Earth from your rampaging confusing thoughts, you see Horuss and Rufioh have noticed you enter. The look on Ruf’s face when he’s looking at you; filled with love, compassion, patience… You almost want to burst into tears because you see the trust, and the loyalty. You feel so safe, even from just his look, which brightens as he smiles and waves you over a little too enthusiastically. Poor Horuss looks awkward and flustered by the rapid change in the older Nitram’s mood. 

“Heya, Tavvy! C’mon in all the way, no need to be scared, ha.” He’s awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as you do as he says, cruising over with your own awkward smile. No matter how much he played it, he was very much just as awkward as you. You can feel his shaking nerves as your fingers graze his in the exchange of the food, his other hand fixing the glasses he wore to keep his eyes from aching too much after the class. “Sorry for, you know, forgetting again buddy. Thanks for bringing it though!”

“No problem,” you mumble, face heating up a little at the eyes on you - the new kid, the guy in the wheelchair. It’s so quiet, even you can barely hear it, but Ruf? Ruf never misses it. It’s almost like he can hear every breath you take, and knows just the right things to say to give breath back to you. Without him? You’d have deflated ages ago. And how does he do it? How does he keep someone like you so happy? 

You feel your smile broaden as you feel his hand in your own fluffy mohawk. The way his eyes lit up when he laughed. It was a whole body, yet still awkward, sounding thing. That dripped from him like molten bronze. Just like his eyes. Which were looking at you from over his arm as it rests on your head. “It’s, um… Your favorite! Sadly I couldn’t make you, well, real lemonade, but it’s close! Chilaquiles, rice and some, well, not the best side but beans... “

“Thanks, doll,” he says, finally pulling his hand from your head, ignoring the darkening of your face. Why were you so embarrassed? Because he’s always treating you like you’re a kid, when you’re not. You’re almost a legal adult, and can get away with more things than someone else! Old enough to be put in jail over juvy. Old enough to have a job and live by yourself; not that you DO. Nineteen is surely old enough to not be the baby brother anymore. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay? I’ll be making tuna casserole. Your favorite, _sí_?”

You nod excitedly, already feeling the pangs of hunger drag their ugly heads from the depths of your stomach from the simple thought of Rufioh’s casserole. There was something damn near magical about how he cooked it, that no top chef or restaurant could ever mimic. Maybe it’s the way he pre-cooks the broccoli before he even starts the actual cooking and how the cheese crisps to a golden brown at the edges, as if dipped into the figurative molten gold of cheese forms… Perhaps it’s the spices that not even you or him measure as he just puts it in through muscle memory, and the ludicrous amounts of cream cheese folded in with care? Who even cares? All your doing is fanning the roaring flames of your stomach with the thought of your forever favorite dish. Love? Love is a light word to describe the adoration you feel for probably the best food to grace your stomach.

He’s probably only making the food because he has no clients. During the weekend he was usually off doing what he thinks you don’t know he’s doing. You know what he’s doing though, and you know he hates it. Yet, still, he does it. Suffers embarrassment, harassment, and humiliation. For what reason?

Why would someone so full of life and love do something like _that_? Not unless they actually enjoyed doing it.

For you.

It’s always for you. ~~And what _she_ did.~~

Before you could actually respond to the dinner idea, apart from a loud gurgling of your stomach, someone with a semi familiar bitter tone speaks up. It actually almost had you frowning in a manner that didn’t fit your usual shy one when you’re left awkward and uneasy. And really? You almost wanted to smack his glasses when you glanced over to see him. 

Him! Who was trying to insult your one night where you won’t be alone. 

“ _Tuna casserole_ , Nitram? What are you, the kid’s soccer mom? Or is he yours, since _he_ had to bring _you_ lunch? Can you really do nothing yourself?”

Already, you’re turning around with a sharp noise of the wheels on the hard floor. The words sharp from your lips as you admit that you didn’t mind, that this _was_ fine and you _were_ excited about it. Sadly, as you turned to get a better view, you couldn’t help pausing after only the first few words. 

His hair was spiked as if he thought he was the protagonist to some kind of shitty sports anime. Though, he clearly didn’t have the body type for it; not that you’re looking below his chin at all. Nope. You totally weren’t. His anime shades were a pair you could recognize, and you’re so happy he never ever sees you, otherwise who knows what other pesterings he could throw at Rufioh. Clothing hung from his frame in an overly complimenting way, that almost had you reeling from the sheer power of ‘I’m trying too hard to look good' or 'I'm a pillow princess trying to look like a top.' AKA a tank-top that hung loosely over what could only be described as ball crushing skinny jeans. How can he exit those without also removing his skin? You will never know! Unfortunately for you, you can now see his shoulder mark… tattoo, it’s a tattoo, not a mark. No soulmarks visible on him. The tattoo on this douche’s shoulder was the oddest thing, rather… Honestly rather repugnant, but it makes you wanna kinda giggle. It’s stupid, like his attitude, and deadpan expression. An expression that’s been kissed by the sun a few too many times by the look of his freckle department. Freckles and… What you hope to be a trick of the light as you frown at him from your position.

Of course, ignoring the screwdriver he pointed at you and your brother casually.

“Sure you don’t mind, kid. Why would you mind? Gotta be sticking up for something, right? You’re Nitram’s brother? Always figured with his _vivid_ descriptions you were a vegetable.” He says the words, and they sound like they should be laced with some kind of emotion. Like he’s feeling something as his hand lazily, and comfortably, uses the screwdriver to point between the two of you. Yet… You can’t place what it was meant to be. Tones were never your strong suit. The lack of understand had you feeling the tips of your ears burn hot as your lips perse in distaste. How dare he turn your brothers words against him. He wasn’t the smartest, and you knew he’d talk about you, but this was uncalled for. Even if, as the words register, the anxiety you tried (and failed) to quell stirs up emotions you’d rather not think about.

Just his baby brother. That’s all you ever are. The pretty guy’s poor, wheelchair bound, baby brother.

“‘Stuck in a coma’ I think would be a good summary of how he describes your... _condition_ through whatever it is he calls a brain. Just assumed you were a figment of his imagination.” There’s a barely noticeable tilt to his head as he looks over your shoulder to your brother. The sound of you shifting to see them both is the only thing breaking the momentary silence as you gauge his reaction.

Rufioh, like you, is easy to read. And with how dark his face seems to be, it’s clear this isn’t the first time this guy has caused some trouble with the ever patient and pushover that is your big brother.

Finally, after a tick, he just sighs through his nose and turns to eat. Words bitter as he refocuses on the book you know he doesn’t care about. Clipped words filled with malice. “Shut up, Dirk.” 

_Dirk_ , huh? Puffing your cheeks indignantly as you glare between the two men, you slowly figure out you’re not gonna get a last name from either. Through, even the most arbitrary miracles, it seems this Dirk fella isn’t even done yet. How it annoyed you. Even if it could make a cool lyric for one of your personal rap lyrics…

Wait, focus! Asshole McSkinnyPenis is still talking.

“Make me, _Nitram_. Why not introduce us all to the little guy, huh? You dear, sweet, little _brother_!” He spreads his arms out, as is revealing a waiting crowd. Though, no one is there, and the other students are busying themselves. Your assumption seems right, and that this is how the two normally interact with each other. Throughout his huge theatrics, there’s barely a fluctuation in his voice, nor does he seem to smile, or pull any expression; talk about a failed Ken Doll. “We’re all hanging onto the edges of our seats! Is _this_ THE Tavros Nitram? I can see the family resemblance!” He points to you with a spin of the screwdriver - Phillips flathead. An easy to remember style, and one most common used - with a drawl and forced apologetic voice. “Sorry you’re related to this tool, kid.”

“Well, um,” you say, frowning, “he _is_ my brother.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” the guy - Dirk - says, and _god_ is your face burning. This is not your cup of poorly brewed mint cardboard tea. You hate making a scene, but...

“Well, if, uh, I’m Sherlock… that makes you Watson, doesn’t it? Or… um, are you supposed to be someone else who’s not as smart?”

Someone at his table mumbles ‘oh snap’, like your words are the greatest comeback ever (no, they’re horrible, honestly), and Dirk turns his head to look at them with what you can only assume is a stern look. It’s hard to tell with the pointy shades. The person in question _immediately_ falls silent. He’s then looking back at you, with his expression remaining neutral and what may be, possibly, a more humored tone? Honestly, it’s getting hard to tell… And calmly, puts his one hand in his pocket as he speaks in a drawled tone.

“Well, you’re definitely _not_ your _brother_ ,” he says, and turns back to the project he’s currently working on. If you weren’t so scared to break anything in here, you’d give him a piece of your - oh who are you kidding. The moment ends and the asshole of the day is back in his seat, tinkering away. What even is that thing? Who knows…

The amount of embarrassment you feel from that encounter should be enough to last you for the rest of your people fearing driven days. This, this right here, is why you do not speak to people in person. They’re so… So…

You feel a hand on your shoulder, and Ruf is sitting back with a smile. The fork you packed hanging out of his mouth as he keeps it trapped between his teeth. You could just.. Feel the exhaustion coming off him in waves from the ordeal, and he wasn’t even at the brunt of it. It’s, probably wearing him down. The slip of the fork was natural as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead playfully. “Thanks Tav. I appreciate that.” 

With Rufioh returning to his book and papers, but mostly his lunch, you find Horuss leaning down with a shaky smile. He was always the looser canon of the Zahhaks you find, though sweetest in disposition. His voice was hushed, as if fearing for your shadow to hear. “Dirk is simply like that, I am afraid. For some unknown reason, he seems to hate Rufioh specifically, with no prior warning as to what behaviour caused it… You shouldn’t have been involved though.” With that, his grin turns more mischievous, a chuckle lacing his words as he leans into your ear. “You were wonderfoal in your comeback though!”

With a laugh that makes you think of a horse - in a good way! - you notice under his t-shirt a rather detailed mark caught your eye. There are a few types of marks in your life. Some can be fun, some can change your fate, and some can damn you for eternity…

Tattoos.

Platonic soulmates…

Romantic soulmates...

Soulmarks.

You can feel you blood run cold for a second as you take in the detailed skull and wand. It couldn’t belong to your brother. The thought passing as your bronze eyes dart to his calm frame. Does he knows that Horuss doesn’t have his symbol? A harsh, shattering feeling goes through you as you just… Watch your brother softly. Trying to hide the turmoil that rocks you as realization hits. And you pray you’re wrong. You pray they what you see, though it doesn’t fit you, or the rest of your family…

That it’s Rufioh’s. 

Though, you know how these things work. You know personally. 

This was not Rufioh’s symbol. 

You’re not stupid, as much as you dream, and hope, and beg the universe. You’re not stupid. And it turns your insides out in realization. 

Horuss Zahhak was not your brothers soulmate. When he finds out, if he hasn’t already realized? You know you’ll see the light shatter inside him a little more. Because everyone knows you don’t just, you know, NOT end up with your soulmate. No matter how much your brother adores Horuss, no matter how in love he is, no matter the amount of time, and effort… He’ll never be with him.

You always find your soulmate, and you’ll be with them. Which means, eventually, Horuss will find his soulmate, and Ruf will find himself alone once more. Alone. Forgotten…

Shattered.

You leave his workshop that day with a heart so heavy you fear it may fall from your chest. Not for yourself, but to how it may crush the one dearest to you…

* * *

As it always is when your dor of a brother cooks, it’s laughter. You sit at the couch a little ways off from the kitchen and watch him cook. Throwing jokes, and comments. Mocking each other in ways you’ve both mutually agreed on as okay grounds. It’s always a blast, sitting here and listening to Rufioh blabber on about his day, his pauses for you to chime in, how he almost dances around the kitchen in a practiced and fluid manner. Always so full of energy, always so ready to make others laugh and smile. Which he does for you, as you clap your hands in time with the fast pace music. The two of you singing off key as the casserole cooks, and sharing gossip as you eat.

As always, it’s amazing. 

As always, Rufioh cleans up.

And as always, it’s not even an hour after he’s done, and his head is resting on your lap as he’s laying there. The gentle breathing whistling out of his lips and nose as his arms drape heavily over your still lap. Another embedding itself between your back and couch as you offer yourself up as his pillow for the night. Really, you should wake up him and tell him to go to bed. To make sure he doesn’t wake up with a bad neck, or bitter attitude. Instead, though, you decide you don’t mind sitting there with him in silence. You’re safe here. You’re loved here. 

So you take the time to message Terezi - who, per always, is taking the bull by the horns. A stupid joke, you think, and it’s way funnier when she says it.

FROM: tEREZI dOPEROPE

[TXT; GC:] UGH 1T’S B33N SUCH 4 LONG D4Y! >:[

[TXT; GC:] 1 H4T3 TH1S D4MN JOB! BUT 1T P4YS TU1T1ON.

[TXT; GC:] 1’M GONN4 B3 TH3 B3ST GOD D4MN BL1ND L4WY3R 3V3R! TH3Y WON’T 3V3N S33 M3 COM1NG. >:]

[TXT; GC:] 1’M GO1NG OUT W1TH 4 FR13ND, D4V3, L4T3R BTW.

It’s always easy to relax as you see her color on your screen. And you wonder who this “Dave” is. You’ve never met him yourself, and you never stay long when Terezi adds him to your groups or memos. Though, surely that’s more a you reason than a him reason, so best to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed to make Terezi happy at least, and who is he to stop her from being happy? 

Making sure to cover your mouth to stifle the giggles, you turn your gaze downwards to you snoozing family. Your family… You know you’re probably smiling like a fool right now, soft, tender, loving, warm, but how can you not bro? Your brother does so much, and… You love him. You keep thinking about everything he’s done for you, put himself through for you, as you idly start tracing his most decorative marking his body was ever so graced with. A large, full back and hip tattoo, of large fairy wings. You can’t actually remember when he got them, or if he’s always had them, except that you think they suit him, and finish the look of a boy who could keep the world young if he tried.

A boy like Peter Pan…

Slowly, and to your disappointment, you had to pull your hand away as it dawned on you that he really should be in bed. As should you. There’s work and school to be done. Time and knowledge to digest.

With a yawn so sharp you could cut glass, you wake you dozing brother to tell him it’s bedtime. The drone of the television filling the air with static. He was always on the brighter end on how to save everything money wise. Nothing was wasted, nothing was on when it shouldn’t be, nothing would be running unless it was being enjoyed.

Really, him sleepily falling of the couch to turn off the TV was funny, but you knew you should have turned it off when he passed out. Well, too late to do it now, as he stood up from the floor and smiled weakly. Weakly he how he did a lot of things around this time in the week. It hurt, you think having to be so responsible for everything. To do everything he does.

To care for you.

As you both smile off on the way to bed, thankfully to separate rooms, you couldn’t help feeling a tad bit guilty that it’s because of you that everything is falling apart from within. It’s because of your spine that he has to work for the doctors bills. It’s your soulmate and the horrors, okay, maybe not horrors, she did that made you both have to get away. It’s because of your schooling that so much was sucked away. Because of you because of you because…

…Of you.

With the sound of Rufioh’s doors closing, you find asoft weight lift from your shoulders. Not because he’s closed off, but because now his brother is safe. No one to hurt him, no one to rip him apart for what he’s doing with the limited time he has before possibly getting stuck in the life that most without a soulmate end up. And the feeling of him safe causes the tension in your back loosen, and the feeling of your ever present anxieties melting away. Silence means that he’s safe, and okay, that they have the power of the day. That a fairy came to bless them for the day, and letting them make it to the next one.

After a quick text to Terezi letting her know you’re calling it quits tonight, and wishing her a good night, you go through the practiced routine of bedtime.

Pajamas? Check.

Bed ready? Check. 

Music? Che - Oh! No! It’s not playing. That just couldn’t be a thing that didn’t happen, it must be happening, it must be a thing! It took a lot out of you, especially in this cold, to leave your window open to hear the music of the forest behind you… Yet you still did. You still broke the rules of ‘you’re too old for magic like that’, and held your window open.

Though, now, it’s no longer for Peter Pan to save you from your soulmate, but instead to welcome the music of the world around you that the fairies so pleasantly play at night when the world is asleep. (Not that you’ll tell just _anyone_ you still believe in fairies… but yourself? Oh, definitely.)

You know you’re beaming as the sound of rustled leaves, of the small sounds of scuttling animals, and the faint sound of what might be the pond, or stream, bubbling with live as the creatures move about as they should. Singing the song of nature which you couldn’t help but think is the most magical thing to run within the world anymore. 

People lost their magic, but nature never does.

With the music playing, you shift your laptop from the bed and to the desk followed by you settling down under your fairy sheets (classy, you know), and close your eyes. Thinking over what you could have for dinner tomorrow. It’ll just be you, just you, yourself, and your being. So, it’s vaguely filing through your mind what to make for dinner. Something small that won’t have the entire kitchen ransact of food for the weekend, and won’t make Rufioh feel bad for not being there. There’s the concept of beans and rice - simple, elegant, filling. Or soup! Not your Mama’s famous shrimp soup, just regular chicken noodle. Oh! What about… No, you could never beat your Papa’s enchiladas. It took a bit of half asleep thinking before, as you drift off, you decide leftovers are good enough for you.

For some reason, you find the dickhead from earlier is on your mind still.For in your dreams, as silly as they were (like seriously? Shrimpchilada’s while making commentary with a rapping shoulder tattoo?), he was obviously still on your mind. Which puzzled you as you woke up the next day, finding the house empty. 

Weird…

* * *

The week passes without any incident. Just like you suspected, there was nothing new going to happen for you, apart from maybe Ms. Leijon telling you that Rufioh called the shop to ask you to bring him lunch.

It’s thursday, like clockwork you know he will. 

Until the eventual call to drag you away from work, you decide to focus your attention to restocking the shelves - one of the few tasks the Leijons trust you with. Astoundingly, it was a lovely fall day, and the passing of customers, slow as they were, brought in some welcomed cool air as the heater hummed and filled the silence left in the empty room.

The only sounds were the sound of your chair, of the boxes piling, and Nepeta’s cheerful talk on the phone with one of her friends. Judging from the noises on the other end, you make a safe judgement that it’s probably Jade. The two have fun being on ‘opposing’ teams when it comes to animals. It was cute, especially when Jade brought Bec over. The sweet puppy seemed to have a soft spot for you, or perhaps it’s you to him?

She was a regular customer, as was her parents. And her cousin Jay or Jason or something (or so you hear), but you’re not really thinking of them as you sing along idly to the songs playing on the broadcast. What a good day.

As you near the end of your shelving, the door opens once more, the crisp feel of the autumns wind making it all the more well known. You can’t really turn to look without it being obvious, but you do let yourself look over your shoulder. What you see is what might be the perfect description of soulmates. Two men, holding hands, and chatting casually with one another. Glued together, and radiating that… Shine that happy couples do. 

One was dressed to the nines in layers; he must be freezing if so. From what you could make out from around the scarf that hid half his face, to the jacket and all, he looks faintly familiar. His hair a faint strawberry blond; or maybe that’s the lighting and he’s a ginger? It’s hard for you to tell. Aviator glasses which you think he just took a sharpie and blacked them out to look cool, like shades. It made you laugh, personally, but they do suit him.

The other had dark brown skin, which was mapped with star like freckles. A rather nice looking face was framed with curly ink black. You heard him scoff, light heartedly, at something the familiar one said. Unlike the other kid, though, you recognized this one. Karkat Vantas, the one and only of Nepeta’s heart. She was always ranting and raving about him to you when she was on break, and you looked at every photo she had of her with her soulmate. You’re rather fearful on if she’d get another during his visit today.

“No, Karkat, listen… It’s like drinkin’ warm piss,” said the blond guy. He waved his free hand in a manner to push forward his point, as if doing so would make it true. The way he flicked his wrist after seemed to tickle something at the back of your mind. But that’s not important as he walks up to Nepeta with Karkat. “You just… You just don’t drink like warm coffee, dude. Now that? That would just be plain stupid.”

You decide to stop paying attention to them as they idly chat with Nepeta, who made herself busy while talking. She sure is good at looking innocent as she pulls out the milk and twirls her newly dyed hair. Her voice sugar sweet as she says, “Hey Karkat.” Then a switch. “Dave.” Far colder. 

Like a freight train, it hits you hard and fast. Leaving you a little winded over the fact of the matter that this was _the_ Dave. Dave Dave. Dave S… Dave something! Something with an S. This was someone you should probably talk to at some point considering the fact that he’s Terezi’s friend. That train of thought - what is your things with trains today? - was cut short on the realization that Dave was holding Karkats hand. As if he would fade away without their fingers laced together. So, clearly…

They’re soulmates. 

It explains all of Nepeta’s comments about how, even with the mark she has over her stomach, that Karkat has a soulmate. That would never be her. Which is rare, it truly is. To have a mark of someone who has a different mark to you. A shadow of someone is meant for you, is perfect for you, but you aren’t a match for them. An even more illusive is what your brother has, or what he probably suffers from, a fate of never having a mark. Of being never meant for someone, and no one ever meant for you. Wouldn’t it hurt, in the long run you ponder, to be meant for someone, and they can’t be meant for you?

Or, perhaps, it’s worse to be like you - to have a soulmate and to run away from them. To be scared of them. To hate them. To… to... 

The mere thought of who it is brings an almost burning sensation on your thigh. And, if you were a more imaginative person, a child that believes in ghosts, and fairies, and lands void of time, you would even humor that you felt the phantom feelings of spiders crawling over your limp legs. That they were sinking their fangs into the very fabric of your soul.

Gingerly, hands knead at the flesh as you lose yourself in memories. Burning, regretting memories. Why did you pick that day to be at the park?

Why that day?

* * *

The day you met her was like any other. A day dedicated to playing on the playground like all the other nine year olds were. Children, oh children, innocent, yet so aware. They new the story of soulmates; all kids had parents who were soulmates, if not all, then most do. They are taught in school that your soulmate is the most perfect person for you, and that they are who’s going to be loving you the most. Who will support you, like what you like, create something akin to what you might. A best friend, a lover, and, well… Your soulmate.

So, when you found it out, it surprises you how you were just like the other kids there, but so different to her. Nine years old and ready to have some fun. Maybe get a knee scrape or two, or run and play tag. Sadly, the park was rather quiet that day; or perhaps it was fortunately, seeing as you were never much a fan of big crowds.

You still aren’t, but that’s then, this is now, to where you are enjoying some time on the swing. Your eyes on the clouds as your mind floats through different dreams. Alternating stories. Blues skies, soft clouds, the swing and the distant sound of laughter? You had the perfect dream. Eyes closed, and almost tuning out the drole white noise, it held no huge importance. Even as your eyebrows scrunch up as things get loud. As you hear whispers behind you. As you hear feet coming towards you and you feel -

There’s hands on your back. 

There’s gravel in your face. 

You whimper quickly, not wanting to draw attention to yourself as the girl who pushed you - Vriska Serket - laughed. She was _always_ harassing you. Bullying you until you’d cry, or until a teacher caught her to tell her to stop; whatever good that ever actually did. This time, when she pushed you, she actually did some damage. So, you roll up your pants as high as you can to see how badly your knee might or might not be bleeding. Your gaze is so focused on the wound you barely hear her gasp. 

Her voice is booming with excitement. “YOU HAVE MY SYMBOL!” 

Oh no. Oh dear god no.

Looking up in a flurry of fear, you see her pull up her baggy jeans and show off a symbol you’ve never seen before. But you feel it, you feel in your gut, and it’s almost as if someone had taken a sledge hammer and suckered it right under your ribs, forcing whatever air you had left in your lungs out. Fairy wings, wrapped together in vines that had what only could be described as pixie dust covers the whole thing. That was your symbol. Your eyes betrayed how much you didn’t want to be her soulmate, the shattering of how your life was before that moment all crashing down and you did the only thing you could think of. 

You cried your eyes out.

The years flew passed as you stayed, glued to her hip. Dancing around honesty and fear. Bending yourself, and how you really feel, into twisted marbles and messes to make her happy. You didn’t realize you were doing this, not at the time. You thought that was all part of the friendship. And it was good, at the start. You found mutual interests like Dungeons and Dragons, in LARPing, in mythical and magical. It wasn’t the worst, you two got along. Over time friendship turned into relationship. You were fourteen, and it was her birthday present to you. From her… “Because now we’re both fourteen, even though I’m fourteen and three months. So don’t forget who’s the older one and in charge.” 

It wasn’t the best. It wasn’t the worst.

But you’re never warned that things can go sour.

So you left. Like a coward. And you still look back. What fear, pathetic; really.

* * *

Back in the present, you watch as Nepeta’s heart breaks. Her beautiful olive eyes filled with both heartache and hatred as she watches the two apparent soulmates interact. Karkat and Dave, whose fingers were interlocked, and shoulders touching, as they ordered their tea - two hot, one iced. To go. 

“Why can’t he come inside, Dave? Or is he just hankering for the frostbite fucking nipping at his useless twink ass?” huffs Karkat, rolling his eyes as he tried to be quiet. And failing. He never seemed to be able to say anything quietly. His softest his indoor voice. As he spoke, he reached for his tea and snapped the lid off. The sugar? How it rained. Guy must have a sweet tooth. Respectable. Not so respectable is how it seems to his lifeline with how he holds it.

“Y’know him, Kar.” Dave says as he drops Karkat hand to grab the two last remaining drinks. Nepeta look almost offend that he would let go of the other man. “He’s just bein’ annoyin’. Like he always is.” With the two drinks now, he turns with Karkat and heads to the door. They keep mumbling to themselves until the door opens again. Though, it wasn’t them that opened the door. No. You felt your lungs drop kick your stomach, eyes like saucers, as you watched him push his way inside the building. 

Dirk.

“I changed my mind. It’s too cold outside,” he says. You, honestly, could barely understand what he said under what must be a mountain of fabric between him and the outside world. With the two, Dave and Dirk, in the same room? You can see the family resemblance; it’s almost uncanny. Dave must be his younger brother! Make sense! If Dave had platinum blond hair, and wore a shittier pair of shades… You’d think they were the same person. 

Finally, you decide to stop looking at them. None had noticed you, and your box was almost empty. Possibly could have been because you saw what might have been Dirk looking over to see you. Whether he sees you or not you’re not one hundred percent sure, seeing as you weren’t looking at the trio of customers. Last you had seen was a frowning Dirk that was claiming his iced tea, and plopping down into the comfy leather seats of the lounge area; though it’s hard to say the seats are even leather anymore. 

Once your box was empty, you turned around to see how positively happy. Dave’s arm lazily draped over Karkat’s shoulder, the way he smiled only a little, and the angrier of the two never seemed happy, yet they radiated love. Truly, earnestly, they looked like the most perfect soulmate couple. 

Your heart sat heavy inside your chest as your eyes flickered back and forth rapidly between the group and Nepeta; Nepeta who was about ten seconds away from lunging at Dave when he pulled Karkat close to kiss his cheek. They seemed fine, and nothing was really phasing them, but perhaps you. Well, more like Dirk was phasing you. Like he was watching you from behind the shades, doubtful as it was. As you rolled a little away to put the box into the recycling, you swear you got the faintest upturn of his lips. 

Was he mocking you? The thought was almost funny enough to have you break out - which you didn’t, but you were close! 

You were moving back over to the shelves to start stocking up another product when you heard the family white noise of someone throwing something out. It never crossed your mind, as you hummed to your own song, as to what it might mean. You thought they were leaving, only to feel a hand on your shoulder. Your own hand froze in place, a mug in one hand, as you heard his voice almost in your ear. “Hey.”

With your attention, he lets go and backs up a little, giving you space to turn and glare at him a little. You couldn’t outright be mad, considering he was a customer, but you were fuming. “About the other day…” Was that an almost apologetic tone? “Sorry I dragged your ass into it. Just cause I got beef with your bro doesn’t mean I should drag you into it.”

“Uh… What is, possibly, your ‘issue’ with my brother?”

“He’s only in the robotics club to impress a guy, that’s my problem with him.” He says, though unlike with others, you don’t see a single facial clue on how he’s feeling. “He’s being pointlessly in the way, he doesn’t want to be there. All for what? A dude that isn’t even his soulmate? It’s redundant.”

“...I mean, maybe he’s interested!” you say, even though you know, in reality, he couldn’t care less about it. You just sort of have to defend your brother! It’s what brothers do, and what he’s always done for you. When he’s unable to, the least you can do is defend him too. “He’s always raving about the club!” You aren’t lying, but you most certainly aren’t telling the truth there. You only learned about it last week, and most likely only due to the fact he forgot to meet you outside the classroom. “About how, well, cool it is. The, uh, people, too! He never, um, mentioned you, though. Guess you’re not that memorable to him!”

Dirk, who’s name you’re pretty sure you’re only remembering thanks to your pun on ‘jerk’, makes what someone might consider, a mock of a laugh. Also known, as a huff of breath out with a slight upturn of his peach pink lips - STOP thinking like that. “You don’t look like the kinda person who says stuff like that.” 

“What do I, I guess, look like, then?”

“...Well, not that.”

“What? Just ‘cause I’m in a wheelchair I can’t -”

He cuts you off before you can finish, a hand pulling itself from his pocket as a show of it. “Didn’t say that. Nothing wrong with being in a wheelchair. I meant, your face. You got this look to you, like you aren’t made for shit like that. Too much of a looker to be mean.” 

 

Your feel your face heat up. A looker? You? Ha! What a joke. You’re not anything close to being a ‘looker’. You’re not attractive at all - that much you know from Vriska. She made a point of reminding you every day. Terezi can’t soothe your nerves, seeing as she’s, you know, blind. Plus! Rufioh is bias by being your family and all. Doesn’t help he got all the looks of your family; the pretty boy. Long lashes, full lips and straight teeth with eyes that could be compared to halos of angels… Or, maybe, you were just unlucky and got all the ugly genes, with looks so basic people wonder how you’re related to him. 

You’re just… You. Plain. Average...this guy? Dirk? He might be considered attractive. A lithe body, form hands, sturdy build, what looks to be silky hair - if he wouldn’t gel it constantly maybe. He hide his eyes, so you couldn’t really judge how hot he really was. But his jawline was smooth, and his lips look like they’d be gentle against - enough of that!

He doesn’t get to know what you’re thinking of him right now, as you glare at him even more from your seat. His posture lax as he watches you, probably, from behind his anime shades. He insulted your brother, is belittling him. And anyways! What does he mean people can’t be pretty and mean? Lots of people are pretty and rude, you think. One example is Vriska; someone who could be considered drop dead gorgeous, but hell if she isn’t one big ass jerk too.

“Don’t patronize me,” you say, you voice echoing your thoughts. “Buttering me up won’t, you know, make me forgive the very mean things you said!” 

He paused, almost looking insulted! Or maybe you’re just projecting. “Whatever. Don’t see it,see it, doesn’t matter to me, either way it’s just a compliment. I said my piece.” He’s a smooth turner, it seems. A practiced motion as he waves over his shoulder to you only once to signal his departure. You couldn’t help the puffing of your cheeks at the indignation of it. 

A tick passed, you swallowed as your eyes trailed down to what’s not really left to the imagination with how tight his -

_Don’t check out the guy right after he insulted your brother! Dumbass!_

Your cheeks burn as you snap them back up to his spiky, over the top, hair. They then snap around as you shift and return to stocking the shelves with Leijon brand mugs, ignoring how something in the pit of your stomach stirs.

You then hear him talking to his brother, and Karkat. Then the chime of the door. Then silence. He had left with his brother and the man that now had Nepeta bending over the desk to ramble to you about. Though, you don’t really listen, thinking about Dirk to your own dismay. What an asshole!

Luckily, you’ll never see him again. Because, after all?

After all, your life _isn’t_ a movie.


	2. Boiling Spills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TWs for this chapter include:** cancer mention, death mentions, and references to emotional/physical abuse. Heed the tags for the common ones throughout the fic, and any necessary will be added as they come along.
> 
> Okay a few issues came up along the way BUT we finally got there... Sorry it's been over a month. The second chapter is always the hardest to get out in my opinion, and Mix was having a hard time editing it for unrelated reasons - but here we are. Chapter three won't take so much time - I promise it won't be over a year before the story's finished, unless outside forces fuck shit up.
> 
> And thank you to the few commenters we've had - it means a lot to both me and co-writer Mix (again, not on ao3.) Y'all keep us writing.
> 
> (Also, this goes out to our friends who have been reading this - we love y'all! (Jam, if you're reading this, I'm in love with you - nah JK that'd be too hetero of me) and you're the best.)

The weekend came and went, and sadly you have nothing to report to your few friends the start of the week. Excitement? Was only found when Rufioh and Terezi got into a slight fight over who had to go get the mail on Saturdays. Same fight every week, to the point where you could recite their words back by memory. In the end, it’s always you. Mostly because it seems rude to make a blind girl get the mail.

Monday came with a kiss of frost, and an icing of snow. Winter was coming, and you weren’t looking forward to it.

“It’ll melt by this afternoon,” Rufioh says, not looking up from his phone. “Be careful on the way to work.” You nod out of habit, even though he doesn’t see it. The plop of another yogurt spoonful to your thoughtfully planned out lunch containers. Yogurt with raspberries and honey, a basic ham and white cheddar sandwich, and carrots. You are free of left overs for the day, new weeks always brought something new. The food of Monday’s is one of the few things you live for anymore.

“Tavros,” says Terezi, with a mad woman’s giggle. “If you can’t feed the dragon, better be careful! Or I’ll eat you! And your food!” A hand coming to press to her mouth as she keeps giggling.

“Terezi… No vore jokes in this good christian M server.” Clearly that was the proper response, because it set her off even further. Her giggles turning into cackles as she pushes her red streaked hair from her face. It’s almost funny to you how she wishes she was a natural redhead, but she knows she can’t pull it off. Even without the gift of sight, she knows she’d be an eyesore. Luckily, streaks complimented her in a similar way they did Rufioh. His own hair once having been bleached and streaked with the brightest red they could find, luckily of which he grew out of. Terezi? She never will, but at least she’s gone away to let you finish making your food.

These two? Who were bickering as if you couldn’t hear? Far more adventurous and straight forward than you could ever be. Unlike them, you can’t pull off a single color in your hair. Or piercings, or even just your soulmate mark. You know you wouldn’t, so… You never did. And you find it’s worked well for you since forever. No point in changing when you won’t ever be enough.

Plus you’d look horrid blonde.

Terezi, after settling down from her fit, sips quietly at her cherry cream soda, lips pursed curiously at you. Why? You don’t know! But everything is set up nicely now! So, turn, tap, dance in your head like you see Rufioh do and…

“Oh!” says Rufioh, looking at you with a slight startled expression when he sees how happy you look. Why were you? If you didn’t know, he was totally lost. “By the way Doll, there’s a package for you. Looked like it was from someplace not here; probably Australia? Judging from that stamp on it. From some g-terror something or other.”

You’re eyes widen, and you feel a thumping in your chest. Your mood goes from good to great in the blink of an eye.

Golgothas? Oh you hope that’s the other word to the handle he _thinks_ it is. After nearly three years, you finally get a message back. After nearly three years your old penpal revives from the ashes. It was a shift in power you weren’t exactly expecting, but boy howdy is it sure there! The last message between the two of you was you updating him on your address, and where you’ll be moving to. He never got back, he never gave you any chance to know if he had gotten the message but… Now…

“Where?” You say, bouncing in place.

With a wave of his hand, he says, “On the couch buddy.”

Wheels screech as best they can on the ground, and you’re almost tumbling as you stop in front of your tiny couch. It’s a basic box, with nothing fancy like some pen pals do (you both thought it was silly, but still sometimes would draw on it), but it’s still something that holds your attention.

Small box, big possibilities.

Without any withheld excitement, you tear open the box. It’s small, and full of that familiar dust that settles inside a box. You know the kind, that kind that isn’t fully dust but it’s also not just cardboard shavings - yeah. That stuff. The note at the top was a crisp white against the black fabric beneath it. Once you pulled the well-worn page away, you find a breathtaking journal stashed under. Oh FUCK yes. Jake always sent the BEST shit.

The first note was simple, it didn’t even have a to who it was for!

_I remembered you were born in may and i dont think this is going to get back to you when i want it to but! Happy nineteenth birthday tavros!_

The pull of you smile was making your face ache, and it had a headache starting to bounce from how light-headed you felt but… But why did that matter? He remembered… Putting the journal and note on your lap, you lift up the shirt as it rolls open and you’re met with what you assume is the taurus symbol. The laugh that bubbled out would have others calling you girly, except you’re not even thinking about that.

Jake always said you were like a picture perfect example of a taurus.

Luckily, with you examining it, you see another note.

What?

What the…?

Jake never sent more than one!

What the fuck?

Fishing it out, you look over the larger note and look it over with a curious tilt of your head. What on earth could the looney guy be thinking

 _Dear AT_ , it starts. You find it hard to not smile at the old nickname, it’s been ages....

 _I know its been a splashingly long time since we last spoke and im very sorry about that. Its been cooking around here (since i know you used to ask cooking means doing well!) I know this epistle from an old friend probably isnt what you wanted in the mail but… ive been so busy. Im moving in with my cousin soon! Shes a lovely gal and i think youd like her if you ever met her. Shes very much your type and i dont mean that romantically._

_Well first off i gotta say that my mums - joey and elwurd i think you remember them! I sent a picture of the three of us on that dig in india i think. Well my mom - thats elwurd - she was diagnosed with cancer this year. Joey is picking us up and moving us home to the states this autumn so that she can be with her parents and her brother jude._

_I cant wait to see my extended family! Thats my cousins who i havent seen in like decades. Okay less than that but its been a long time! Actually about three-ish years to be honest. Or maybe less? Im not sure i honestly cant remember._

_Oh but dont let me bash your ears - or your eyes ha ha! I hope youre doing well. I know you had to move because of the accident to get away from that nasty_

\- and the word’s blacked out here, but you’re pretty sure it begins with a b and ends with itch -

_woman. I know you dont want to think of her like that or at least thats what you told me and its been a while so i dont know if thats still the case…_

_I dont even know if youre still in new york anymore but thats where im moving! So depending on how far away you are maybe we could meet up some time?_

_Oh! And i forgot to tell you. Me and my boyfriend broke up. I mentioned him to you a few times i think but it turns out it was for the best. We dont talk much anymore but im going to see him when i move back home!_

_Enjoy the shirt and the journal! I dont know if youll make much use of it but i sure do hope so._

_\- GT_

Yeah, this is definitely him. This? Is so your wee ol’ penpal of the days of yore as he’d say.

After a quick check on the freshness of the shirt, you're satisfied with the findings. It’s musty, and needs a wash… But it’s clean enough, and loved enough, you can wear it later.

* * *

“Well,” says Meulin with a scowl. “... we have a problem,” She’s looking over the files and papers sprawled over the counter. The numbers of sales, of orders, and what’s left after it all. Just this year alone though. The look on her face reads bad news. Like, ultra bad. “Mom’s not gonna be happy…”

“Oh?” says Nepeta. Nepeta, who has started this almost tedious little tick to seem ‘cuter’; curling her hair around her fingers as she pouts. It’s been going on since she managed to grow it out long enough. Boy is it distracting, which you do not tell her, given she could probably chuck a sumo wrestler across the store. So, for the sake of how she looks at you when she can tell you’re about to drag her, you buy into her cutesy aesthetic. Pays off! Really, because what’s funnier than watching some guy think he can sass the Leijons? The only thing about her ‘cutesy’ aesthetic is her large ass pet peeve that really picks at all the wrong parts of you.

You don’t want to date any of the people she sets you up on dates with. Not platonic, not romantic, not _anything_! Stop it stop it - 

Digression aside, you tune back into what seems to be the focus of the morning. “We’re… We’re down on sales.” Meulin says after looking at you, making sure you’re listening. Her eyes downcast after catching yours. “We already let Chixie and Skylla go, hopefully the recommendations have paid off…” A hand slips down her face as she leans against the counter. “Aside from us three, and Mom when she slips in, we have no other employees.”

Oh.

Fuck.

You look down, feeling your back coil. You’re going to be fired. You can feel it. You should have been fired ages ago. You should be gone, and now they’re going to, because you’re why they’re down sales. Because you can’t work like Skylla, or was charming like Chixie… The firing was bound to happen. And it shook you as you waited the breath for her words.

They never come.

Meulin frowns.

“Mom isn’t going to like this,” slips out again. It’s hard to see her like this, frowning and looking angrily at the notes. Shifting to stand up, Meulin looks to Nepeta with her arms crossed across her bright pink fluffy sweater. The cat on it had little moving eyes, and would meow every so often! Sadly, you can’t get close to her without sneezing - stitched is one thing, her pet cat is another. “I’ll have to tell her. She needs to know, and we’ll…” A long sigh escaped her, as if this was the most painful thing in existence. “We might have to sell more than just tea and some sparring baked goods.”

You knew it was a long shot, but you pressed your lips into a thin line, eyes darting, before speaking up. “We, uh… We could try selling, like, coffee?”

“We’re a tea shop, Tavros” says Meulin, pressing her palm to one of her cheeks. She almost looks OFFENDED at the suggestion! “We don’t sell coffee.”

Eventually, through the silence, Nepeta speaks up. Humming under her breath before giggling excitedly. “We could always start mew know Meowlin!” Covering her mouth, she giggles again. “It’s purrfect! I mean, like, we’d stay a tea shop, but like coffee? We could get coffee only drinkers coming in!”

You nod along, happy with the suggestion. “Or, um, we could get in more, like, British imports!” You add on, hands excitedly motioning around the area to make up for your silent voice. Your eyes darting through the inventory you often were stacking. They seemed to sell a lot more than just tea! Jammy dodgers were okay, at least passable! Chocolate oranges, ginger biscuits! Most people in this little area seemed to have a hankering for the heartless colonizers! … IS that heartless to say? Think? Hmm… “Maybe more of the, if we can, scone mixes? People, um, seem to like those! Seasonal teas are, well, seasonal, so they don’t… You know..” Oh you’re fumbling. “We could stock up on those? Bring them out in off seasons? Cause they sell, um, really, really well? Chai season is coming, cause it helps with the cold of Christmas weather?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Says Meulin, her brow raising as if surprised you could come up with that kind of idea. “The loose leaf rooibos is also doing pretty well… Especially the lemon souffle one. The Belgian chocolate one is too… We could get more of that!” 

For the next fifteen minutes before opening, but after a Leijon regular excited squeal, you all focus on discussing what’s selling and what doesn’t. You all going so far as popping the lip off of a jar of cookies to taste-test why it seems to never leave the shelf. But, to Meulins agony, it’s apparently because they’re extremely spicy. You adored them, and you knew Terezi and Rufioh would also be in love with them, which lead to Meulin saying you could keep them. Though, it was between tearful chugs of milk.

With a cookie still in your mouth, you wheel over to flip the sign from the closed side to the open one. To your surprising, you find there’s a car outside when you do that, already waiting for you to open it. And taboot it seems familiar! A small bell ringing in the back of your mind that you should be grumpy, except you don’t know why! Well, you thought so as you started turning, but then you see the driver - shitty shades so pointy you could stab a man, bomber style jacket that so didn’t compliment his frame in the least because you are SO not checking out his frame, and the tightest jeans known to humanity.

Mr. Dirk Weeaboo S-dickfuck!

Honestly, he reads as more anime than even Rufioh, and you can’t help but laugh as you make the rounds.

You ignored him as he moved around.

With yourself now busy, you find it easy enough to ignore him. Just like how he ignores you. The man spares you not a single glance, to your knowledge, from behind those fucking shades. Fuck those shades! Not that you were curious about his eyes or anything, because pft, who would be? He’s a tool with a - 

Focus.

Bad Tavros! Bad!

You’re shelving idly while munching on more of your cookies when you hear his elbow bang on the counter and he starts up his usual order of things. A large ginger peach iced tea, one of your personal favorites, so you can respect the choice. Nepeta easily goes about making his order, along with some idle chitchat while he waits.

“Soooo, Dirk! How’s college treating you? Any new students? Anything happening worth noting? Any…” she wiggles her brows. “Chemistry?”

“Fine.” Dirk says, looking at his nails. Then, what you can assume, he looking at her. “Kids dropped out.” A heavy sigh, and what might constitute as a shake of his head. “And no, no chemistry.”

“How’s Karkat?” She barely pauses, but it’s noticeable. “And your brother?”

“Which one?”

“Dave, duh. Not Sprite.”

You pause on accidentally eavesdropping on the two’s conversation - not because you wanted to, but because Nepeta is so loud; which makes sense, given that her soulmate is Karkat of all people, someone who is also naturally very loud - when you hear the name ‘Sprite’. What kind of name is ‘Sprite’? So not only his this family apparently just an asshole factory, but it’s also prone to the usual white person suburban names that are ‘unique’ and ‘out of this world’. God what the fuck kinda family names their kid ‘Sprite’? Oh! Maybe it’s a nickname? Maybe maybe…

You’re knocked back into reality by the sound of Nepeta signing while the ice breaks and is plopped into the cup. Why someone who can’t handle the cold is getting an ice tea in the cold is beyond you, but! Here we are. Trying to tell someone’s soulmate that their soulmate is happy without them. What a hard ball - especially to someone as loud as our dear friend. She really needs to learn to lower her volume. No wonder the two soulmated men related to Dick McSmallpenis tend to avoid hanging around here.

“Oh.” Witty response there, Captain Obvious. What might be a frown pulled on his lips, as if he knew exactly what, and why, she was asking him. With a smooth motion, Dirk snatches a straw and pops it out of it’s paper prison. “They’re fine.” Is all he says.

Nepeta smiles as wide as she can, to show teeth and to hide how it was most certainly a grimace over a genuine smile. “That’ll be three fifty, please.”

“Right.”

“Have a wonderfurly nice day.” says Nepeta as she takes the change. She wasn’t even looking at him when she said it, which was probably because he was already turning around to leave by that point… Except he pauses and looks directly at you. It’s almost funny, really, because it almost seems like if he wasn’t wearing those shades, he’d be making direct eye contact with you! Sadly, your pride decides now is a good time to say hi to the world, so you don’t shy away from the ‘stare down’ of sorts. You refuse to be seen as a coward!

Even though you feel your face start to heat up.

Even as the straight line of his mouth quirks into a small little infuriating smile.

Even as he waves to you and leaves, letting your eyes dart down to your lap as what was once your face feels like it was just stuffed into an over.

Even as you find you don’t like it. Except…

You do?

* * *

Is it Tuesday? Wednesday? Eight years from now?

You wake up this morning without a real grasp on the concept of time. Disorientation the only thing fueling you to wake up further and find the answers. Answers such as: you’re alarm is blaring ‘Oops I did it again’ meaning you slept the fuck in like you suffer from sleepy binch disease. Which you actually do! Well, not a disease, but minor case of narcolepsy that developed in your younger years - you can’t ever seem to remember when it exactly started…

Needless to say that mornings? They’re not your friends.

The bed is comfortably warm, holding you tenderly as the pillows almost hug you with how perfectly soft they are. The lulling smell of coffee, even if gross, draws you to sit up and start your morning routine. Was Rufioh going to try coffee again? Seems a little odd, considering that every time he tries it he finds it repulsive, wasting it down the drain.

Forcing your dreary body up and out of bed, you get dressed and make your way to the kitchen. As you turn and slip in, you hear voices.

Unfamiliar ones.

Dangerous ones?

Surprising ones.

Freezing in place, you feel your heart thundering, barely contained by your ribs. Someone must have broken in to steal whatever it is you have left of value; or maybe she found you again; what if it’s - 

“Listen, TZ, dude, I’m pretty sure we’re more over than Kim fuckin' Kardashian's natural ass. All ‘ause - ”

“David Strider,” you hear Terezi, thank fucking god, say. “You absolute fucking troglodyte. Don’t you pull a ‘we’re over because we had a little argument’ on MY fine fucking ass.”

Slowly, you creep out from your little hiding place to see who the mystery stranger in your house is; and it’s that red-haired guy from before. The one with the sharpie colored in shades! He’s dressed in what you can only assume was a suit from the night before - black jacket tied around his waist, black pants, and red suspenders with a matching bow tie that lays undone know. He was rolling up his sleeves with one hand, the other holding a cup of coffee that probably almost matched the original drink that stained his shirt beige.

You wonder who he pissed off to get coffee tossed at him?

His elbows made a little nose on the table as he leaned on them, and your eyes drifted to the girl he was talking to. Terezi also seemed to be dressed to the metaphorical nines; a dazzling teal cocktail dress you know she bought at goodwill and bribed Kanaya to fix up. You’ve met Kanaya a few times, and she seems really nice! Though, you wonder how obsessed with Vampires she is, considering she carries a copy of Twylyght in her purse at all times. It’s not the worst read in the world! You’re favorite part is when Becca and Edythe meet for the first time and realize they’re soulmates.

But you digress.

Deciding you shouldn’t really stick around, you turn to leave a little freaked out. You’ve never been a fan of people you don’t personally know in your house. Wouldn’t - shouldn’t? - Terezi know this by now? You don’t have much time to think about it though when you hear the Dave fellow start up. “Oh, hey, it’s you.” There’s a pause before you finally say, “... What?”

“You’re that guy,” he continues, motioning to you with the coffee cup. “The tool. Or, like, maybe that’s your brother? Always spouting BS about some shit with no substance. Hmm, yeah, sounds more like your brother; Rufioh, right?”

Great. Great! You feel your body slump with the weight of unimpressed force of 100 disappointed soccer moms. He’s just like his brother; a shame, really. What a dick! Luckily for everyone, you’re honestly not in the mood to argue with him; it’s still the morning, you haven’t eaten or had your tea! You think, casually, you’d rather not get defensive when he’s currently in your kitchen. Otherwise? Oh, otherwise you’d be up in his face, the bitch.

“Oh, yeah, um, I don’t, you see, really care…”

There’s a thwack as Terezi smacks him on the shoulder, causing a wince while he looks over at you with those douchey shades. “Sorry bro. By the way, what’re you doin’ here anyways?”

“I, uh,” and you pause, looking at the cup of coffee in his hand, and at the matching stain for a good solid 2.4 seconds before saying, “I live here. What are you doing here?”

Before he could answer, his mouth opening, Terezi waves him off. “Sorry, Tav. That’s my fault. He needed a place to stay.” If she could, you feel like she’d be looking at you. Obviously, sure, she can’t, though, so you suppose that was a bit, well, a bit of a bad joke. A little dumb even. “He’ll be out of here soon.” Her head turns more in your direction, instinct you guess?

Loudly your stomach makes itself know, and you really just want something to drink, and maybe one of those incredibly unhealthy but oh so delicious maple donuts in the fridge; if Rufioh didn’t eat them all already. “Okay. Take you time I, er, suppose.”

“Nah, I’m gettin’ goin’. Shouldn’t have stayed so long anyways.” Dave says, and you can tell he’s got a pretty bad Texan accent going on. It’s almost hilarious, since you don’t live anywhere near the south. “Pretty bitchin’. This coffee sucks though, dunno what brand you buy. Is this, like, fuckin’ starbucks brand coffee? FUCK damn does it suck.”

So, this stranger not only comes into your house, but now is insulting your probably stale and expired coffee? How do _you_ , Tavros Nitram, respond? 

...

You don’t.

You’re just absolutely dumbfounded by this morning already. You can think of a thousand retorts to him - “Well you swallow,” or “the coffee isn’t as bad as your attitude”, or anything, something, but the words just won’t make themselves known. And, for some, they seem oddly sexual anyways, so it’s probably for the best you don’t feed into his innuendo filled mind! You’ve heard from Rezi he’s basically made of them.

For a split second, you wonder if his brother’s as innuendo friendly as you.

Wait… Why did you care? He’s just a - 

Luckily for you - and you’ve never been all _that_ lucky to begin with - Terezi goes, “Dave, that’s rude.” Her voice when she says it tugs at your heart. The pang shooting through you before you can reprimand yourself because so what if that’s the voice she only uses for you and - 

Your stomach lurches at the reminder.

Three years, three years and the wound still felt burning fresh.

Three years since the start of this downfall of madness.

Three years since you all made a mistake.

Three years since whom you were forced to call a girlfriend, accidentally killed and blinded your best friends, and left you in a wheelchair.

You had warned her after the party that she shouldn’t drive. You were sober, you were the designated driver, she can’t get behind the wheel. You warned her she was going to hurt herself - hurt them. Drink after drink of thought after idea after threat. As if it crossed her mind that he was challenging her, daring her to do more, take more, make it worse. You just wanted her to stop, to listen, to believe you when you said she couldn’t get behind the wheel.

She didn’t listen.

And they _all_ paid the price for her pride.

You woke up in the ER. Your legs unable to move, no matter how much you called for it not to be true, and your best friends either blind or dead. You remember the sound of Terezi’s cries and screams when she woke up in the bed across from you, and how you had to shush her; forcing yourself to walk through the pain to cuddle up to her.

It’s been three years since you both felt the searing pain of losing half a mark.

It’s been three years, but it still aches to remember it’s her fault you lost your best friend.

It’s been three years… and you still want to cry over the loss of half your platonic soulmates.

Dave’s voice brings you out of your rotting thoughts, your lips pressing into a thin straight line to avoid anything from slipping out. Your own thoughts, or the forced comment of how his relationship is. It’s not even your problem. “So what? My boyfriend just dumped my ass faster than a burnt hot potato ‘cause I won’t get that sick nasty matrimonial with him because…”

“I thought you were planning to propose?” Terezi asks, so softly it almost hurts, and mimes what would be looking over at you, as if this isn’t a conversation you need to hear. Well, she might be able to. She always seems to know where you are. Despite this being your own house, you get the sentiment and turn to head out of the kitchen. So what if you’re starving! That can wait for this weirdass motherfuck to get out of your house.

The last thing you hear as you turn the corner is Dave saying, “I _was_ , and I _want_ to. I _want_ a family and kids and marriage and shit but…” There’s a pause, like he’s waiting for something. “I don’t have a mark, I don’t have a fucking soulmate… Like, honestly, Sprite has a soulmark, even if he won’t do anything about it, Rose has Kanaya! Sure, yeah Roxy’s mark's burned out and…”

You pause, stunned by hearing about someone else who is missing a soulmark. Slowly, you wheel yourself in, ignoring how much of an asshole you might sound like.

“Did you say you, um, don’t have a soulmate?”

Watching Dave’s face go white made you think of how rufioh reacts when others ask him. Terezi, however, laughs. “Nah, he doesn’t got a soulmate.” she says, coming down from her laugh a little. “Dave here was born without one. And Karkat’s soulmate is apparently not interested! Whoever the lucky bastard is!”

“But that’s not normal,” you protest.

“So fuckin’ what if it’s not normal? I love him, he loves me and -” Dave pauses, and you can almost see the dots connect in his head, and the shame making him slumping over a little. His ‘gaze’ turning to Terezi with a sigh. “I should go talk to him, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah,” says Terezi, elbowing him with a smile. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”he says, smoothly tossing his coffee cup into the garbage, missing, and then giving a small pseudo-wave. Inside his motion of standing up, Dave presses a kiss to Terezi’s forehead, lingering a second. You know you shouldn’t eel threatened, you shouldn’t feel weird or defensive but… For some reason? You sort of do. And then he’s gone, out the door and you have his mess to clean up.

Terezi’s sigh when the door closes is a really relatable mood.

“They… he doesn’t have a soulmate?” you ask, frowning. The realization of what he was trying to do settling into your stomach, because you know this one. You know why they might be having issues. It’s because, unfortunately, marriage is illegal between two non-soulmates. It’s not in all countries, sure, but in most it’s borderline if not outright illegal. It’s absolutely, most definitely super hard unless you can prove both of you don’t have soulmates. “And they’re tiring to, er, you know, get… married?”

“Yeah.” she shrugs her shoulders, leaning because while she starts stripping the top part of her dress; annoyed with it probably. “Well, actually, Karkat does. Dave doesn’t.” she pauses, and you feel her blind eyes bore into you before shakily starting up again. “Look… some people don’t have soulmates. The ones who do? _They’re_ the lucky ones! The ones with someone for them. Having one without a match or… Well… None at all.”

You feel your heart sink. Yet another pleasant reminder you failed. Are a failure. And, to your surprise, you feel bad for Dave and Karkat; if Dave wasn’t a tremendous jerk! And you don’t actually know Karkat that well, but your heart stings for the guy. It also goes out to Nepeta, who deserves better than a soulmate who isn’t interested in them.

But mostly? It stings for Terezi. _Because_ , after all, her soulmate is also yours.


End file.
